The next morning Evelyn was much better. The fever had passed away, but she felt tired and exhausted, so she decided to keep quietly in her room until lunch time, as she was very anxious to join us in an expedition which Mr. Stanley had planned for that evening.
We were to visit an old tomb, which had just been discovered on the road to Bethlehem, and in which Mr. Stanley’s German friend, Mr. Schwarz, took a great interest. Mr. Schwarz would not be able to guide us there himself, as he was going away from Jerusalem for some weeks on business; but he very kindly promised that his daughter would show us the way to the tomb, as Mr. Stanley had never been there before.
Evelyn was most anxious to go with us, so we arranged to start when the day began to grow cooler, for Mr. Schwarz said that, as it was not a long ride, we could easily be back before sunset.
I was up very early that morning, and leaving Evelyn in bed I went downstairs to write an account of our visit to Solomon’s Quarry in a letter to my sister Maggie. Her aunts took great interest in hearing of all the places I was visiting, although they still predicted that I should not come back alive.
I was busy with my letter, sitting at a little table in the window of our sitting room, waiting till Sir William should come downstairs for breakfast, when the door opened and Mr. Stanley came in.
“Oh, how lovely!” I exclaimed, as soon as I turned round.
He had a pretty little basket in his hand, filled with maiden-hair ferns, scarlet anemones, and cyclamen.
“Oh, how very beautiful, Mr. Stanley; where did you get them?”
“I have been for an early walk in the Valley of Hinnom, and climbing about on the hills on either side. I am so glad you like them; I thought you would.”
“They are very lovely!” I said; “Evelyn will be charmed, she is so fond of flowers; I will put them in water, and take them upstairs to her. She is better today, Mr. Stanley.”
“I am glad of that,” he said; “the fever soon passes away if care is taken. But I gathered these flowers for you—if you will have them.”
“Thank you, very much indeed,” I said; “I did not know they were for me; it was very good of you.”
“I am so glad you like them,” he said; “I could see you were fond of flowers the other day on the Mount of Olives. I must be going now; will you tell Sir William I will meet you at the Jaffa Gate, at four o’clock? There are several people I must see today about various things, so I am afraid I must leave you all to your own devices until evening. Goodbye, take care of yourself; I don’t want you to have fever.”
He was halfway to the door when he turned back again.
“There is a little piece of paper here, in the middle of the flowers,” he said; “that is for you, for no one else, remember. The verses are only written in pencil; I don’t know whether you will be able to make them out. They are only about the flowers,” he added, smiling; “you will not be angry, will you?”
“Oh no,” I said; and he was gone.
I put the paper, which I found among the ferns, in my pocket, for a minute afterward Sir William entered the room. I gave him Mr. Stanley’s message, and he admired the flowers, and rang the bell for water that I might arrange them before they withered. I did not tell him that they were for me.
After breakfast Sir William asked me to read aloud to him the leading articles in a copy of the Times which had arrived by the mail that morning, and so it was some time before I could find an opportunity to look at my paper.
I opened it at last, as soon as I was alone, and read it more than once:
THE FLOWER’S MESSAGE.
We grew upon the very hills
Where Jesus used to stand;
We blossomed on the lonely paths
Of God’s once Holy Land.
There is a city near our home—
A sad and ruined place—
For those who lived within her walls
Let slip the day of grace!
Yet beautiful in all the earth
Mount Zion used to be—
The city of the Heavenly King,
And Israel’s glory she!
Now, filled with misery and sin,
Defiled by guilt and shame,
And trampled under foot by those
Of every creed and name.
Oh pray, then, for Jerusalem,
The city of our birth;
Oh shed a tear for her who was
The joy of all the earth.
The ancient promise holdeth good,
It hath not been reversed—
“Blessed is he who blesseth thee,
And he who hates is cursed.”
So we from the Judean hills,
This simple message bring—
“Oh pray for poor Jerusalem,
The city of the King.”
For M. L., from her friend HOWARD STANLEY.
I looked forward very much to that evening ride, and four o’clock seemed as if it would never come.
At last the horses arrived, and Sir William, Evelyn, and I mounted and rode to the Jaffa Gate.
Mr. Stanley had not come, but Miss Schwarz was there, waiting for us. We had been introduced to her the day before, so she came at once and spoke to us, and we rode up and down together, looking from time to time at the gate to see if Mr. Stanley were coming.
“It is very extraordinary,” said Sir William, “that he should be late! We have always found him such a very punctual man. Are you sure he said four o’clock, Miss Lindsay?”
“Oh yes,” I said, “quite sure; ‘Four o’clock at the Jaffa Gate,’ that was what he said.”
“Yes, he told me to be here at four o’clock,” said Miss Schwarz; “he will come in a few minutes, I should think; shall we ride towards ‘the big tree,’ as we always call it? It is not really a very large tree; but, you see, we have no trees that deserve the name in Jerusalem, so it looks very big to us. It is only a little way, and Mr. Stanley will see us there and we shall get some shade.”
“Very well,” said Sir William; “you had better go there; I want you to keep out of the sun as much as possible, Evelyn, and I will wait at this corner and catch Mr. Stanley as he comes through the gate.”
So we rode down to the big tree, and Miss Schwarz told us how she used to come and play there with her little friends when she was a child, and how beautiful and green she thought it till she had been to Germany, and had seen the trees in Europe.
We found Miss Schwarz a very pleasant companion, and the first few minutes passed away quite happily; but, as time went on, we began to wonder very much why Mr. Stanley did not appear.
After about half an hour Sir William came slowly down the road to meet us.
“I cannot see him,” he said; “it is very strange! He must have forgotten it! I think I will go as far as the Latin Convent, and inquire for him.”
“I do not think he would forget it,” I said.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Sir William; “young men often have short memories, and you said he was going to visit various friends this morning. I will just go and inquire for him. Will you ride up and down till I come back? I shall not be long.”
It was, however, some time before Sir William reappeared at the Jaffa Gate, and then he was alone; Mr. Stanley was not with him.
“Well, papa,” said Evelyn, “did you find our runaway dragoman?”
Sir William looked grave and perplexed. My heart beat very fast, for I felt sure that something was the matter.
“I can’t make it out,” he said; “he has gone to Jaffa!”
“Gone to Jaffa!” we all exclaimed together.
“Yes,” he said, “the porter tells me he took a horse early this morning; it must have been soon after you saw him, Miss Lindsay, about ten o’clock the man said, and he went down to Jaffa. The porter thinks he was going back to England. I can’t understand it; it is very strange!”
“What can be the matter?” Evelyn said.
“I cannot imagine,” said Sir William; “I think he might have let us know. The porter said he did not even take his luggage, but left it to be sent after him by the next steamer. It seems there is a steamer that leaves Jaffa for Alexandria tonight, and I suppose he wanted to catch that.
“Did not the man know why he left in such a hurry?” Evelyn asked.
“No, he did not seem to know. I asked him if a telegram had arrived for Mr. Stanley, and he said he did not think so, he had not taken one in; but the man talked such extraordinary French that I could not understand him very well. I wonder Stanley did not let us know he was going; it was very thoughtless of him.”
“Perhaps he will write from Jaffa,” Evelyn suggested.
“Well I hope so,” said Sir William; “but I think he might have let us known before this afternoon, and not have kept us waiting here in the sun. I gave him credit for more thoughtfulness. It is a very strange thing; I do not like it at all. Well, what are we to do? Miss Schwarz, we ought not to keep you standing here; will it be too late to go to the tomb?”
“Oh no,” she said, “not at all; it is quite a short ride, we shall be back long before sunset. Shall we go at once?”
“Yes, I think, perhaps, we had better go,” said Sir William, with some hesitation.
“You can talk Arabic, I suppose, Miss Schwarz, in case we need an interpreter.”
“Oh yes,” she said, laughing, “as well as an Arab. I could talk Arabic before I could talk German.”
So we set off for the tomb. But we were none of us in very good spirits. Sir William was complaining all the way of Mr. Stanley’s bad behavior to us, and Evelyn was defending him to the best of her power, and assuring her father that there was certain to be a letter from Jaffa.
I am afraid that Miss Schwarz must have thought us very dull and uninteresting people. She was an exceedingly nice girl, just my own age, and, at any other time, I should so much have enjoyed my ride with her. But that afternoon I could not tell what was the matter with me, but it was an effort to talk. I roused myself, once or twice, to take an interest in the places and the people that we were passing on the green Bethlehem plain; but I found it very difficult, my thoughts seemed to be far away. I was ashamed of myself, and struggled against it, and asked Miss Schwarz many questions about the place to which we were going, and she took great pains to explain everything to us, and to make our ride pleasant and interesting to us. I hope she did not think us ungrateful.
We went for some distance along the road to Bethlehem, and then we turned up amongst the mountains. It was a very wild, rough road, indeed after a time we had no road at all, but had to cross over plowed fields and the shingle-covered hill sides. The view was splendid; a valley was beneath us, quite surrounded by hills, on the sides of which we could see the remains of many of the ancient terraces. It must, indeed, have been a lovely place when it was planted with trees; but the bare, sandy heights were very tiring to the eye, and had it not been for a few patches of green, and the scarlet anemones and yellow Bethlehem stars which were peeping up between the stones, the hill sides would have been very uninteresting and monotonous. In the distance we could see the blue waters of the Dead Sea, and the white limestone mountains of Quarantania.
At last we reached a place where there were many ruins, the remains of an ancient village; there were several old wells, and stones with crosses carved upon them, which showed that they dated back to the times of the Crusaders. We passed through these ruins, and Miss Schwarz took us to the side of the hill, where the newly discovered tomb was to be found.
It seems that the Arabs, living in a village near, were plowing on the hillside, and one of them moved a large stone out of the way of his plow. To his astonishment he saw that the stone had covered a deep, dark hole; he went down into this hole and found himself in a stone chamber, the masonry of which was quite perfect. Another entrance had been afterward made into the tomb, and through this Miss Schwarz led us. She told us that her father thinks it was a burying-place for Christians in the fifth or sixth century, so it is not very old compared with most of the places in Jerusalem, but it is most curious and interesting. There are five stone steps leading down to the door of the tomb, and the door itself is made of one block of stone, and is still on its hinges, and moves backwards and forwards most easily.
All round the chamber were places cut out of the stone for the coffins to lie in—there were twelve of these in the principal room, but two other smaller chambers, leading out of the first one, contained more graves; these, however, had not been fully opened out when we were there. A large stone was at the mouth of each grave when it was discovered, and the Arabs had torn these away with the greatest haste, hoping to find some treasure buried with the dead. But though they opened every grave, they found inside nothing but dust.
We were just peeping into one of the further chambers, and trying to count the number of graves in it, when we heard a great noise outside—shouting, and yelling, and jabbering, and, to our great alarm and dismay, a number of Arabs rushed into the tomb, shaking their fists at us, and screaming at the top of their voices. Sir William was very much agitated and frightened, for it was a wild and lonely place, far out of the reach of any European building or any public road.
We scrambled out as quickly as we could, followed closely by the Arabs. Miss Schwarz was haranguing them in Arabic, but as we could not understand either what they were saying to her or she was saying to them, we were very much alarmed indeed, and felt sure that they intended to rob us, or even to murder us.
When we came out of the tomb we were still more terrified, for we saw that some of the Arabs had seized our horses, which we had tied to a tree near, and were preparing to lead them away.
“Oh dear, I wish we had never come!” said Sir William. “What shall we do? If I could only talk to these fellows! Don’t be frightened, Evelyn darling. What do they want, Miss Schwarz? What do you think had better be done?”
“I think they only want money,” she said, turning away from the Arabs, who were shaking their fists at her most fiercely. “I will see what can be done. They say we have insulted the sheik of the village by entering the tomb without leave, and of course they threaten all sorts of dreadful things. But I will manage them; don’t be alarmed! Have you any money with you, Sir William?”
“Yes, a little,” he said, “not very much. How much will they want?”
“Oh, they shall not have very much,” she said.
“Have you a mejedie? It is a large Turkish coin—larger than half a crown; it is worth about three and six pence.”
“Yes, I think I have,” he said; “I will look.”
“No, not now, please,” she said; “wait a minute or two.”
So she had another long conversation with the Arabs, and then, to our astonishment, they brought up our horses, and helped us to mount in the most gallant manner. Then, when we were quite ready to start, Miss Schwarz turned to Sir William.
“They may have the mejedie now,” she said; “if you will give it to me, I will hand it to the sheik, and he will divide it amongst them.” For they were all holding out their hands greedily to Sir William to receive the coin.
“Now it is all right,” she said; “let us ride on quickly.”
“You are a splendid dragoman, Miss Schwarz!” said Sir William; “how did you manage them so well?”
“Oh, I threatened them with the English consul, and the German consul, and with the Pacha, and with all sorts of other authorities,” she said, laughing. “I knew they would not dare to hurt us; they would never hear the last of it if they did. And, besides, the sheik knows my father well, and as soon as I mentioned his name they became very civil. I hope you did not mind giving them the mejedie, Sir William, but I promised them a little reward if they were good.”
“Oh, not at all,” he said, laughing; “it was a cheap way of getting off! They would not get much each, poor fellows!”
“Oh, quite plenty,” said Miss Schwarz; “if they had been more civil we might have given them a little more. I hope you were not very much frightened, Miss Trafford.”
“Oh, only a little,” said Evelyn; but she looked pale and tired, and we were all very glad to get safely back to the hotel.
Evelyn lay on the sofa in the sitting room all the evening and I sat beside her, whilst Sir William went into the coffee room and discussed the adventures of the day with a party of English travelers who had arrived that evening from Jaffa.
My beautiful ferns and flowers looked withered after the heat of the day, so I gave them fresh water, and pressed one or two of the prettiest in blotting-paper. Then I sat down beside Evelyn, with my work in my hand, but I did not feel inclined to sew. I felt very dull and depressed, and Evelyn seemed so likewise. I said to myself that it was only the reaction after the excitement and fright we had experienced that afternoon, and yet I felt that, after all, that was not the real reason.
Was it because—could it be because—Mr. Stanley had gone away? For, after all, he was only a stranger; —a pleasant—yes, a very pleasant—traveling companion, who had been very kind and useful to us when we were in his company, but who would think no more of us now that he had gone away. Like ships meeting on the sea, we had gone side by side for a little time, but now we had parted—probably never to meet again. That was all; it was nothing to be dull or miserable about. And I was quite angry with myself for having given way to the feeling of depression which had crept over me. I tried to think of my work, of Maggie, of our encounter with the Arabs in the tomb, of anything but of Mr. Stanley’s mysterious disappearance!
But, somehow or other, I could not tell why, my thoughts would come back to it, in spite of all my efforts to turn them to other subjects. I could not help wondering whether Evelyn was thinking of the same thing. Why was she so quiet this evening? Could it be that she missed Mr. Stanley? Was I right in fancying that was the reason? Did she really care for him more than for an ordinary acquaintance?
I looked up at her, and found she was watching me, with a curious expression on her face—half amused, half inquiring. I rather resented it I am afraid, and looked down again quickly, and went on steadily with my work.
“It will all come right, May dear,” she said, after a pause.
“What will come right, Evelyn?” I asked; “what do you mean?”
“I mean about Mr. Stanley’s mysterious disappearance,” she said, smiling; “I am sure we shall get a solution of the mystery in a day or two.”
“Oh yes,” I said, carelessly; “we shall have to find another dragoman; that is the only drawback.”
“The only drawback!” she repeated.
“You don’t think so,” I said.
“You don’t think so either, May,” she said; “I know you don’t.”
“Well, perhaps not,” I said. “How close it is tonight, Evelyn! Would you mind me taking a little walk on the verandah outside the window to get cool before bedtime?”
“Oh, not at all,” she said, smiling; “go, May dear, it will do you good.”
So I left my work and went outside the window.
It was a quiet, starlight night, and the stars in the East are wonderfully brilliant and beautiful. I walked up and down for some time, not exactly thinking, not exactly praying, but with my heart lifted upwards, above this changing world, to the unchanging Friend above. And an answer came to that upward appeal. It came in the recollection of some words I had heard a few days before: “Next time a trouble comes which you cannot understand, and which seems so very hard to bear, just say to yourself it is God’s chisel at work upon me—you will find it such a help.” And it was a help to me; the very help that I needed—God’s chisel at work upon me, then I must not complain; I must not murmur; I must not even wonder; I must just trust and wait.
Looking up at the bright, starry sky, I said, in the words of a favorite verse:
“He doeth all things well,
We say it now with tears;
But we shall sing it with those we love,
Through bright eternal years.”